


If I Could Tell my Mom and Dad

by vamm_goda



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Gift Fic, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vamm_goda/pseuds/vamm_goda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny gets these ideas he can't quite let go of. This is apparently one of them.<br/>Gift Fic: Danny/Claude coming out to the kids that they're <i>together</i> together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Could Tell my Mom and Dad

Danny rarely grabs Claude after practice for anything fun. Sure, there have been those couple times Danny’d snagged his elbow, whispered “The boys are at Sylvie’s” in that voice that had an edge of desperation that makes Claude’s toes curl, but that happens so rarely. Most the time it’s something mundane like “Carson needs a ride to practice” or “The boys want grilled cheese, what time can you be over?” He just has to look at Danny to know that’s not what this is about this time. Claude doesn’t know their family's schedule like breathing the way he used to, but he also knows Danny just got the kids back, so clearly no fun times, either. 

He finds himself dragged away from Matt and their Modern Family recap, hauled out of the rink and all the way to Danny’s ridiculous SUV. Which, okay. They don’t actually ride to the rink together anymore, so he’s gonna need to get his car at some point, but Danny doesn’t seem to think that this is an important fact at the moment. Or he’s forgotten. Again.

Danny scrambles into his car and Claude has no choice but to follow him in, since he doesn’t really want to carry on a conversation through the window like a drive through. 

“We need to tell the boys,” Danny starts the second Claude has his door closed. “About this.” A vague gesture into the air between them as if Claude wasn’t 100% aware of what ‘this’ was.

He’s been expecting it, honestly. Danny doesn’t do simple, never has, and Claude never wanted simplicity from him. Which is just as well since the whole damn thing has been complicated like a poorly written mystery novel. “Okay?”

“We just. We need to tell them.” 

Claude sighs, pushing his hand back into his hair. Scrubbing through the curls and letting his eyes fall closed for a moment as he smacks his head into the door frame. “Danny . . .”

He barrels on like he hasn’t heard or doesn’t care. “I swore I would never hide anything from them, Claude. No matter how hard it is, I was never gonna keep secrets.”

“I’m pretty sure they _know_ , Danny.” The boys aren’t dumb, he’s seen Carson watching them sometimes, the same way he watches when Claude is diagramming out a play at practice. Like he’s learning but also like he’s starting to _understand_ the thinking behind the play, the deeper purpose beyond just obeying what’s on the whiteboard. They’re all bright kids and it’s not like Danny, or Claude for that matter, is particularly sly. They’ve not given themselves away _yet_ , but it’s a matter of time. 

After all, he’d been there in Buffalo. Heard the chirps from Danny’s old teammates, and if hockey players are starting to take notice of a thing then it's officially a thing that is a _thing_. Personal lives are all good, fair game in that way where anything is fair once you hit the playoffs, but this had gotten personal in a different way. It had turned from vague implications that were as easy to shrug off as a thoughtless breeze to something more cutting, more designed to provoke because it wasn’t so much speculation as unsupported certainty. 

Everyone’s been called rude names, implications about sexuality; because that’s how sports still work, as irritating and unnecessary and desperate for a change as it is. He’d heard Danny field the comments about Sylvie, but he’d also heard things about himself, remarriage and the boys all in the same breath. Stuff that wasn’t so much getting under his skin as trying to strip it off of him. Once it reached a level where they expected Danny to react personally instead of generally? That was a thing. A big issue sorta thing.

He’d seen Danny struggling to remember the crosschecking lesson of earlier that year.

“It’s a . . . it’s a big deal, Claude.” Which is an amusing understatement and a gross exaggeration all at once. “And they deserve . . .”

“I’m not arguing with you, I’m just saying. I don’t think the telling has to be as big a deal as you’re making it.”

He doesn’t miss the fact that Danny glances sideways at him like he thinks Claude’s lost what remains of his mind. And yeah, it is a big deal in its own way. They’re coming out to the kids, but it’s more than just admitting to being together like _together_ together. Danny’s also freaked because it’s like telling them he replaced their mom or something. It’s dumb, Claude never could and doesn’t even want to, but Danny has these _ideas_ that he can’t quite shake.

It’s ridiculous, the amount of time it’s taken to get to the point where there’s actually something _to_ tell. And Claude knows no one would believe them if he told them that, but the fact is Danny’s weird about things, a bit more old fashioned and a lot more settled and so it was just. _More_ , for him. Claude knows that people talk, in the same way that he knows that kittens are cute and being hit in the nuts really hurts, but there was nothing to talk _about_ until after Danny finished doing . . . whatever he needed to do over the summer. Danny type things, apparently, which he did to help himself deal with the realization that Claude _wanted_ there to be things to talk about. 

Well, not actually talk about, but certainly he wanted the things that were being talked about to actually start happening. 

He and Reemer and Matt had laughed about it as they’d moved him, how Danny had sent him on his way with a gentle chastisement about youth for the young. It had been funny in that way where Claude’s never been a typical young bachelor, but also he knew how to recognize Danny talking in metaphor. That was tactful speak for “I am awaiting your big gay freak-out and would like my boys out of the potential blast radius”. Only that . . . never happened.

Danny doesn’t want to freak the boys out over nothing, doesn’t want their lives getting flipped upside down over a whim, and Claude gets that. Claude’s pretty sure he’d also be a crazy person if he had kids to worry about. So he just kept coming back, finally made Danny understand it wasn’t, like, Stockholm Syndrome or whatever Danny seemed to be worried it was, and it just kept getting bigger until it was . . . them. Like a unit, _them_. 

So pretty much Danny’s neurotic about all things he-and-him and, for reasons Claude himself doesn’t even understand, Claude stuck around and waited him out. Claude has long since given up trying to understand Danny related things; all he knows is that he’s probably in love with Danny even though he’s not entirely sure why. 

“I don’t regret this. This isn’t a mistake.” Claude’s trying to make it sound certain but mainly it just sounds a little flippant; a dare, like he’s taunting Danny to see if he’ll say it back at him. 

“I know,” Danny agrees. It takes him a second longer to say it, because Danny has more experience with regret in his lifetime. “I don’t regret anything.”

“Except making me move out?”

“Necessary sacrifice,” he retorts, voice falling into rote for the old discussion (because it’s not quite an argument between them). “We miss you, yes. But if we want to do this, we had to . . .”

“I know.” 

Danny’s been neurotic about it for some reason, flip flopping between yes and no, wobbling, unresolved, unDanny. Claude had to work so hard just to make it something Danny would listen to him about, not to mention getting Danny to fess up that yeah, okay. He totally felt it too. Their respective golf tournaments had been a wash. It had taken their trip to the Bahamas over the summer to even make any sort of headway at all, and it was nowhere near what he needed when Danny’s other friends and the boys (always the boys) were along. Then they got back to Philly and Danny made Claude _move out_ to keep the whole mess from getting any bigger than it was. Danny pretended it was so they could think about it and be sure, but Claude has read the same articles, sat for the same interviews. He knows that Danny’s paying attention to what is said, and neither one of them are uninformed about what it could mean to them, their lives and their careers, the moment it becomes something too big to laugh off publicly.

This time around Danny has that look on his face, though. “I have to tell them.”

 _That_ look. The “I have made a choice and am now unflagging in my devotion to that choice so yes, I _am_ wearing that belt with those shoes and fuck you” look, so clearly there’s some resolution he’s reached. 

“We,” Claude corrects with a sigh. He’s not oblivious to what being in a relationship means. “ _We_ have to tell them. And also go back for my car.”

\\\

Danny’s the one who comes up with the idea of a nice dinner. And because Danny apparently escaped from the ‘50s at some point he insists on one where they have to wear actual pants. The kids are kinda pissed about it.

“Paaaaaaaapa,” Caelan starts, guaranteeing to get Carson and Cam going once he does. “We haven’t had to dress up for dinner since you and maman’s anniversary like five years ago. What’s going on?”

Danny stops fussing with Caelan’s shirt collar. It’s not resting right in the back because Danny clearly does not understand how to iron shirt collars properly. Not that Claude does, either, but he’s got people and unlike Danny he’s not about to stand on his pride. The panicked look that crosses Danny's face is almost enough to make it worth it when Claude bursts out laughing and guarantees he’s not gonna be getting any for at least the next week. “Nothing’s going on; I just think we need to have civilized dinner sometimes.”

“You mean not eat over the sink.”

Carson looks at his brother, eyebrows drawn in tight. “We never ate over the sink unless it was Claude’s turn to do the dishes.”

Danny seems more resigned than anything. He doesn’t remember being a bachelor, but he’s seen it done. “Claude . . .”

“I hate dishes,” he offers, completely unapologetic, pulling Danny’s tie straight. He gets a swat for his trouble. “Showtime.”

The boys are all looking at them with curiously identical expressions, and for once even Cam is keeping quiet. That seems worrying.

“Isn’t Sean coming?” Carson asks finally, and all eyes turn to the ass hanging out of Danny’s fridge. Couturier looks up from where he’s been digging in the crisper, his eyes getting even bigger.

“I. Uh. No?” He looks to Danny for confirmation, like he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been invited but he’s not completely certain. Danny’s gotta break him of that habit at some point. 

Claude smiles, starts herding them to the door. “Sorry, boys. You’re stuck with me and your dad tonight.” The promise of Claude Time seems to defuse their curiosity for the moment and Sean goes back to rummaging with a barely concealed sigh of relief, leaving them to head out the door in a mass of teen and preteen energy.

Cam insists on going with Claude in his car, those old abandonment issues stronger in the youngest. He’s chatty for most of the ride, filling Claude in on all of those little details of his life that Claude misses being a part of, now. Stuff about school and his friends and what his brothers have been doing to him this week (he doesn’t deserve any of it, he’s quick to point out) but he keeps checking on Claude, looking over like he’s making sure that Claude’s really there and not gonna suddenly run off or disappear. They’d explained it to the boys — as much as they could when Danny was still dancing around the Thing That Was Positively Not a Thing — and at the time they’d all taken it as well as could be expected. They’d been confused, a little hurt, and Caelan had an edge of anger when he talked to Claude that took almost a solid month to finally strip him of. But Cam was definitely hit the hardest in losing near constant access to his favorite playmate. He tends to stick to Claude tightly when he gets the chance, chattering away about anything and everything. Claude knows Cam misses him, in the same way where he misses the boys like burning too, and he also knows that Cam can’t quite understand the story they gave him about moving out the way the older boys did. Cam’s still pretty emotionally driven; to him it still reeks like abandonment. So Claude drives, and lets Cameron tell him anything and everything that comes into his head, and the ride to the restaurant feels too short, not enough time spent one-on-one like they used to.

Trust Danny to pick one of the older restaurants, the sort where the trappings are elegant but just a little faded at the edges with the passage of time. For some reason Danny loves that sort of thing, calls it character, whereas Claude has always seen it as a little macabre, like watching a death by inches. It’s probably a generational thing, he thinks, before mentally shutting himself down. He’d taken too long convincing Danny that their age wasn’t an issue to let himself get sloppy in his thinking.

The table is settled near the back, it’s close to the kitchen like an insult but Danny wanted a place where they could be private and the tables are spaced more widely back here. The boys share a collective look before they all drop into their seats like they’re awaiting an axe falling.

“It’s not bad news,” Danny promises as he takes his seat a little slower, careful of his suit jacket so it won’t wrinkle because, yeah. _Irons_. “Relax.”

“Then what _is_ it?” Caelan demands. Claude can see Danny preparing to lecture him about his tone, a fight that’s becoming rote at this point, but their server shows up and offers them their menus, passing them over while pointing out the wine list, specials, and when he finally leaves them alone the argument has dissipated into a vaguely distrustful look from the oldest and confusion from the two youngest. Danny sets his menu down with a sigh, his face set in that look that Claude knows as steeling himself. Claude mirrors him, considers reaching out to grab his forearm, reassure him, then thinks better of it when he sees the way Danny’s jaw is a little too tight. This is mostly Danny’s circus, and Claude has to let him run it how he feels he needs to in the beginning.

“Boys,” Danny starts, his intonation oddly formal, and Claude wonders if he’s going to start lapsing into French. “We need —”

“Water?”

Claude nods his agreement, pushing his glass over so it’s easier to reach before going back to watching Danny. He waits while their glasses are filled, then starts again.

“Claude and I, we wanted to —”

“And would you like anything besides water?” The young man has his pen poised above the order pad, face eager and desperate to please. The boys get their sodas, a dining out treat. Danny orders a bottle of wine that’s more expensive than it has any right to be and Claude steels himself because the wine, more than the pants or the restaurant, tells him that Danny wants this to be a Big Freaking Deal. He lets Danny sample the wine — he has more experience acting like he has some idea about the difference between good wine and bad wine when actually he normally just drinks beer like a sane person. Once it’s clear Danny approves of the color and smell and whatever it’s supposed to do when it sloshes against the rounded sides of the glass the server finally leaves them be.

Danny takes a deep breath, his nails indenting crescents into the smooth burgundy of the tablecloth as he grips at it. “We —”

“Do you need more time with your menus?”

Claude has no idea what he wants to order, and he doesn’t think Danny or the boys are any different, so the server is sent away and the next time Danny tries to bring it up Claude kicks him.

Danny wisely drops it in favor of letting everyone browse the menu. 

“Papa, this place doesn’t have mac ‘n cheese.”

“I don’t see anything good on the menu at _all_.”

“What’s a scallop?”

“I don’t understand why we had to dress up for this.”

“This blows.” The last pronouncement comes from Caelan, and Claude snorts into his wine glass, taking a quick swallow to hide his amusement. 

Danny sighs, sets his menu down, and Claude can see the lecture coming. 

“Hey, look.” Claude folds his menu for a moment, cutting him off. “We’ll order hamburgers, I’m sure they’ll be happy to make them for us.” What’s the point of being a hockey player if you can’t order stuff that’s not on the menu for your kids every once in a while? Maybe they’ll end up with filet on a bun, but if they call it hamburgers everyone’s happy and problem solved for the most part. 

Danny thinks he’s spoiling the boys, and his look says so.

Claude’s look says, very clearly, _at least they’re not complaining any more_.

There’s nothing Danny or his look can say to that without creating some sort of incident at the table so instead he folds his hands, inspects his nails for a few moments. Claude sips his wine and tries not to laugh at how _nervous_ Danny looks, like he’s about to announce something huge, like a trade, instead of, y’know. This.

“Boys, what I —”

“Have you decided?” Their server looks so hopeful, so _helpful_ , that Claude has to smile at him.

Claude can see the muscle jump in Danny’s jaw from all the way across the table. It’s like second nature to push his foot against Danny's shin to calm him down and meet his eyes. It’s just for a moment, but it’s there, and Claude finds himself wondering what it would be like if, in the future, they could do that and not have anyone trouble them about it. It’s a nice thought, something to look forward to at that vague point in the future where their lives belong to them alone again. 

The boys order their burgers and the server looks appropriately confused until Claude slips him a $50 with his order of nice, normal, on-the-menu food. By the time it’s Danny’s turn he’s at least not twitching like he’s just seen Miller across the way.

Once he’s gone Danny takes a slow drink of wine, meets Claude’s eyes for approval to keep going, and —

“More water?”

It appears they have managed to score the most attentive server in the history of servers, ever. Claude can see Danny’s eyes working, the way he does when there’s a play that needs to be made, when he has to see every possible angle and reaction. He also sees the way Danny sorta collapses forward when he doesn’t see any option except to pass back blind and hope for the best.

Danny pushes his glass towards the server with a groan. “Yes, please.”

The server hovers over them like a particularly impatient vulture for the rest of the meal, waiting for the slightest thing that they need. It results in Danny refusing to talk about anything more pressing than the weather, the boy’s latest test scores, and what sort of shapes they can make their mashed potatoes into. Claude can see him itching to bring it up, but it just never happens.

When the boys order half the dessert cart they have to call it a total lost cause thanks to sugar high, but Claude gets to finish off what they don’t so all in all the night’s pretty awesome and productive as far as he’s concerned. But Danny is quiet and defeated when they get home, a melancholy that soaks into Claude because he cares, so he sneaks a kiss at the door. 

He loves how Danny relaxes into him with a sigh before he pulls away, heading back to Brayden and that place that’s not quite home yet. 

\\\

The second time isn’t quite so planned. Claude is over at the house, hanging out with Sean and shooting a little pool in the game room. Cameron had needed a ride home from school and since Danny has never gotten around to taking Claude’s name off the permissions list he was able to swing by to get him and then had just settled into the house for the rest of the day. If Sean finds it weird he doesn’t say anything, just racks up the balls and offers Claude the first break since he’s technically the guest now. Claude shouldn’t be surprised by how good the kid is, because pool is a lot like hockey only with firm footing and without the danger of checks. He’d suggested full contact pool once, but everyone just looked at him like he was probably crazy so he’d let it drop even though it seemed like a really awesome idea. So he gets the boys settled in the kitchen to wait for Danny to get home, eating sandwiches that Claude made before joining Sean, who was leaning against his cue and watching him quietly. The boys wouldn’t let Sean make them anything; according to Carson he’s not that great at making sandwiches.

Claude has to admit that sometimes he keeps an eye on the guy who’s sleeping in his old bedroom. Not to be creepy, but just to be . . . sure. Even though it ends up being creepy.

He’d been okay with Sean moving in to his old room. It had made sense when it had been explained to him. If it just became a thing — another Danny type thing — that he collected rookies and strays like most people collect normal items like movies and stamps and porcelain dolls (maybe not dolls) then the amusement and scrutiny would fade with time. Claude wouldn’t be such a . . . novelty . . . and that’s great because Claude kinda hates being a topic of discussion if it’s for anything less than hockey. It’s given Claude some leeway now that he’s Philly’s new favorite athlete and he is grateful for that. He’s got enough attention focused on him without the Danny angle being played every few minutes.

Plus, Danny’s not boning Sean. He knows this for a fact. Danny never boned _him_ when he was sleeping across the hall either, and Claude had actually _wanted_ him to. He’s pretty sure Sean has never asked but he also likes to check up on him sometimes, just in case.

It’s not like Claude’s delusional about Danny’s hotness factor or anything, because not even playing hockey is enough to throw off his appreciation factor that much. He’ll need lots of alcohol before he starts believing Danny is stunningly lust inducing or runway worthy. Unless it’s one of those runways where they make the models look like space aliens on purpose, he doesn’t get those. Danny’s not even particularly interesting, he’s just _Danny_ , and Claude is self aware enough to realize that works for him. Hopefully it doesn’t work for Sean, because if it does he will have to smack the kid in the head.

Luckily he seems reassuringly normal in his pursuits, so the odds of that aren’t high.

He’s talking to Sean while the kid tries to take his shot, answering absently when he can be bothered to. Sean needs to focus more than Claude does, which makes sense because he probably hasn’t spent as many late nights as Claude has with the crack of ball against ball and Danny across the table, discussing a lot more intense issues than their upcoming game against New Jersey. They’re not quite cool enough with each other that the silence doesn’t feel a little pressing so Claude grins wide when Danny finally gets back, heralded by the jingling of his keys into the key dish. Zora takes off, flying from under the table and nearly taking out Sean as she skids across the floor. Her legs spin for traction before she hits a rug and really gets up speed. 

“Not fair,” Sean grumbles as his shot goes wide, and Claude gives him the most innocent grin he’s capable of. Zoey grumbles at him as he moves to take his shots, grouching over the loss of his legs to lean against. Somehow he gets the feeling that she might miss him more than anyone else. Claude’s pretty sure Sean doesn’t let her sleep on his legs the way he used to.

When Danny wanders in he’s got Zora in his arms, snuggled up as well as a dog with skinny little pin straight legs can be. She’s looking vaguely smug, and Claude makes a face purely on principle.

“Thanks for pinch driving. How’s Cam? What are you doing?”

“He’s good,” Claude answers at the same moment Sean offers “We’re playing Extreme Pool.”

Danny looks between them before focusing on Sean. Claude doesn’t look away from lining up his shot, leaning up towards the table more than strictly necessary to nudge the five ball into the corner. “What, exactly, is Extreme Pool?”

Sean wriggles around subconsciously, watching the shot and trying to predict how Claude’s gonna play the next. “Claude made it up.”

“It’s like pool, but we’re on the floor,” Claude explains, leaning back on his heels. “So we can’t see exactly where the ball is going.”

“It’s extreme,” Sean agrees with a nod.

Danny keeps looking between them for several seconds before he gives up even trying to understand. “How’s Cam?”

Claude shrugs, leaning up as best he can to try and get the shot with his cue held at the very extremes of the butt. “He won’t want to tell you, but he forgot his spelling list at school so you’re probably gonna have to call Riley’s mom to get it.”

“Again?” Danny sighs, setting Zora down and allowing her to scamper over to Zoey and begin chewing on her folds. Zoey just grumbles and rolls over, letting her have at it.

Claude rolls his shoulders, stretching out his spine and wiggling his arms while squinting at his angle for a second before he sinks the six. “Yeah. He seemed sorta embarrassed about it, though.”

“He’s always embarrassed about it.” Danny’s eyes make a slow roll, a habit that’s only gotten worse since he began obsessively filling his house with as many barely out of high school players as he could find. 

It’s not actually as creepy as it sounds in his head.

“They’re in the kitchen; I made them a snack and probably ruined them for dinner.” 

“Claude . . .”

“I regret nothing. I don’t think they’ve had a decent sandwich since I left.”

Sean blushes more than is necessary, and Claude elbows him gently like an apology. “Anyway, they wanted one so I made them split a few.”

Gradually Danny’s face gets overlaid with a thoughtful expression, and he darts a look at Sean before clearing his throat. “Claude, could you join me in the kitchen? For just a moment.”

Claude can’t stop the low, hopeful flare of heat in his belly because even though his brain knows there’s no way Danny’s thinking what he’s thinking, his dick is still 24 and totally into the idea of hoping that Danny is. “Now?” His voice sounds perfectly fine, except for how Danny’s eyes widen and then narrow in a quiet chastisement. 

“Kitchen? _Where the boys are_?”

It takes a few seconds of Significant Staring for it to dawn on him, and then he’s right back to watching Danny like he’s a massive inconvenience, only for a different reason. “Now, are you serious?”

Sean looks politely intrigued, and he’s showing a lot more restraint than Claude would have expected from a kid his age, let alone an American.

Claude rolls his eyes at _himself_ a few seconds later, pushing up off of the floor and rolling to his feet, grunting at the crack in his back. There’s something wrong in the universe the day he turns into Danny and starts considering himself so much older than everyone else around him.

He also should be able to get up off the floor without his back popping, fuck.

Danny doesn’t take his elbow to hurry him along, but it’s a near thing. He barely even lets him hang his cue. Claude can feel Danny preparing himself for the conversation, the gradual build up of tension in his body that deflates the second they walk in and the only child there is Carson, working peacefully on some sort of paper, laptop keys clicking and book laying open and vulnerable beside it. 

“Where’re the rest of them?” Claude asks, and Carson raises his head, shrugs a little. 

“Caelan doesn’t like working in the kitchen and I think Cam is hiding in his room.”

Danny sighs, nudging Claude towards the table with a hand to the flat of his spine. “Claude, take a seat. I’m gonna go grab them, okay?”

He takes his seat across from Carson who starts watching him, his eyes so much like Danny’s and completely different at the same time. He looks curious, and Claude stretches out in his chair, sneaking a look at the book.

“Modern American Studies?”

He shrugs, pushing the book towards Claude like he actually cares to learn about it. He starts flipping through the pages, slick like a magazine cover but surprisingly sturdy. It’d have to be, he guesses. “It’s not too bad. I mean, it’s school. But it can be sorta interesting.”

Claude returns it to the original page, passing it back over. “If you say so. School kinda sucks.”

“Unlike you I don’t get hurt much, though,” Carson laughs, closing the textbook after jamming a loose napkin into place inside it. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Claude's mouth drops open on a protest, and then he stops himself. It’s not like he can order Danny’s kids not to go piss or something, that’d probably be overstepping some boundary. So he lets Carson go, and when Danny returns with Cam he blinks at the empty spot where his middle son used to be and which is now only Claude, sprawled out with his legs taking up half the free space under the table.

“Where’s Carson?”

“Went to the bathroom,” he offers with a shrug, patting the seat next to him. “Take a seat, Buddy.”

Cameron sits down next to him and very nearly in his lap, looking up at him while Danny rubs at his forehead, then spins on his heel. “I’m gonna try and coax Caelan out of his room.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Caelan’s a good kid, but he’s also a good kid who’s discovering that being a teenager includes hating the dude you worshiped a year before. The wonders of growing up.

“What’s happening?” Cam barely has his seat before he’s looking at Claude with huge eyes. "Claude, is something bad happening?”

Oh god, oh _god_. “Hey, no. _Non_ , hey, Cameron. No, okay.” Claude pats his shoulder, waits until the boy is looking at him before continuing in his most serious and important voice. He sounds vaguely like Toews, but whatever. “Nothing bad is going on, okay?”

“You’re not getting traded?” Cam asks, and the vulnerability in his face is so pure that Claude’s heart tightens and aches for him for several painful seconds. “ ‘cause you don’t live here anymore, and then you might be getting traded or something, if papa is making you talk to us.”

“I’m not getting _traded_ ,” he scoffs, tries to make it seem as small and unreal as possible even though, after this summer, he knows nothing is ever really safe or sacred in the Flyer’s organization. He has to nudge the boy’s chin to make him look at him. “I’m not. Hey, Cam. It's okay.”

He’s not sniffling, thank God, not crying or anything dramatic but he’s definitely wary, eyes fixed on Claude and twisted narrow with suspicion. “You promise?”

It’s a sad fact that he _can’t_ , not in good conscience and not for long. “I’m not being traded right now. I promise,” he offers after a moment of thinking about it; it’s the best he can do and Cam knows that. Has to know that — he’s been the son of a hockey player for long enough to understand that the complexities of off ice diplomacy don’t always coincide with the brutal simplicity of life on it.

“Okay.” He curls closer to Claude, leaning against him like a pillar and Claude lets him. When Carson gets back he slides into his chair 

“Hey, you wanna see the new game Mom’s boyfriend got me?” Cam sounds almost shy as he wiggles away, looking down at his hands. “I’ll go get it.”

Claude’s not sure if he’s more confused by the ‘gift’ or the ‘boyfriend’ part. It’s not even Christmas, is he slacking in not getting them spontaneous gifts or something? Is there some step-kid gift giving etiquette he needs to learn?

At Claude’s look Carson just offers a little shrug. “He’s okay, I guess. He’s trying too hard, but Cam keeps scoring on the gift front. He’s, like, obsessed with making Cam like him.”

“He’s okay?”

“Yeah, I mean.” Carson thinks about it for a second while Danny leads a quietly protesting Caelan in by the metaphorical ear. “He’s not cool like you or anything, but whatever.”

“Why do I have to be down here if Cam’s not here?” Caelan starts the mood on an off note, watching the table. “Papa, I was doing homework.”

“Just a second, wait for your brother to . . . Where did he _go_ , Claude?”

The frustration is actually sorta funny, okay? “He went to show me the game he got for no reason, apparently.”

“Papa, I really need to finish that book report. I mean, I know I put it off for too long but can’t this wait or something, please? I need to get it done.” Everyone knows ‘book report’ is code for ‘skyping with the girl who is absolutely not even vaguely his girlfriend’, but whatever. Claude and Danny had been there over the summer often enough and they didn’t even get to see each other at school.

Danny watches Cam scramble into his chair next to Claude, leaning against him and shyly offering his 3DS for him to mess with. Claude looks up at Danny, deliberately through his eyelashes because he knows what works at this point, he had to work damn hard to find out and he’s not going to let his tricks go to waste now. It’s not so much defeated as just _wait_ and _there’s time_ , and Danny goes loose and easy as he nods, the hand on Caelan’s back propelling him back the direction they had come from.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else, and Caelan heads back to his room without question, leaving Claude and Cam huddled over his game and Carson flipping through his book some more.

The evening ends with Sean giving up on their game when it becomes clear Claude isn’t coming back any time soon. He meanders into the kitchen and helps Claude help Carson with homework while Danny patiently copies the spelling list as Riley’s mom reads it to him over the phone. Cam at least looks sheepish as his dad grills him, and Caelan even comes down for dinner without being called twice. It isn’t exactly accomplishing much on the Uber Important Telling of the Painfully Obvious, but it feels comfortable, a lot like it used to back when Claude was always around for help with homework or just to hang out. 

At least Danny isn’t shaking with frustration when Claude kisses him at the door this time. If he’s lucky maybe he can spend the night sometime this weekend or something.

\\\

It doesn’t work out that way, but Danny also leaves him alone about stuff for a whole week and a half, and that’s really helpful. They have a string of games the last week of November where Danny needs to be focused on things like not being a weird overly freaked out mess about personal business, so Claude gets a reprieve and also two weeks where they don’t have to worry about being interrupted even though after the Lightning Game Danny’s too tired and annoyed with a lackluster game to do much more than collapse across Claude’s body and fall asleep. 

Sometimes he wonders if it says more about Danny or him — or maybe Them — that that’s more than enough.

Danny’s packing for their next game, finally getting out of Florida after going 1-1 against the home teams and flying straight to Carolina, trying to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything in the organized chaos that is road trips. Claude’s mostly trying to stay out of the way while Danny bustles about, mumbling to himself under his breath as he rounds up the few things he bothered to unpack.

“We really need to find a way to tell the boys,” he mumbles, apropos of nothing, and Claude perks, tilting his head up that tiny amount so he can watch the way Danny’s hesitating in his closet with his back to the room.

It’s probably ironic or iconic or one of those words.

“We’ve been trying,” Claude rejoins, gesturing to them, the room. He’s sitting on the edge of their bed and watching Danny as he carefully folds his things and sets them into his suitcase to avoid wrinkles. It’s a habit he keeps trying to instill in Claude, but Claude’s okay with wrinkles. There’s a reason he wears patterned suits, after all. 

He wishes Danny would wait for a different time but they’re almost never together and also alone, no teammates or roommates or kids anywhere around. It’s the sort of thing that feels like a luxury, and Claude sorta hates spending it like this instead of making out but Danny’s weird about priorities.

Danny pauses in his folding, and it takes several long moments before he raises his head and looks directly at Claude, thoughtful. “We have been,” he admits after a few moments of thought. “But not hard enough.”

“Danny, you have tried forcing them to eat a horrible dinner and sneak attacking them in the kitchen.”

“That was not a sneak attack.”

“No, sneaking requires subtlety.” Claude tilts his head, watching and waiting for Danny to keep going, get his thoughts together and tell Claude exactly what he means when he says things.

“I’m plenty subtle,” he snarks finally, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed, hands tucked between his knees and turning to look at Claude from an even level. “I’m not ashamed of this, you know.”

Luckily he’s used to Danny Briere and random subject changes. “Is that a red fish?”

Danny stares at him for a few more seconds, working it out in his head before he asks, “Red herring?”

“ _Oui_.”

“No, it’s . . . Stop using weird English phrases; you’re not good at it.” Danny clearly needs a few seconds to get his brain back on track, fiddling with his hands for a few moments before looking up at Claude, meeting his eyes and refusing to let go in that way that he has. Danny’s never been charismatic, but he can catch and hold Claude like a net. Maybe that’s the definition of charisma, Claude’s not sure. “I just want you to know. The reason I haven’t told them has nothing to do with me being ashamed.”

“I know.” Danny would never do something he’s ashamed of. He’s doing this, therefore he is not ashamed. It makes sense, but Danny has this weird need for Claude to _know_ things. “We’ve been trying to tell them.”

“That’s half the problem.” He sighs, stands and goes back to fussing with his luggage. “Have you noticed how difficult it has been?”

Claude holds back his snort, just barely. They have another road game after this, and he would like there to be a chance that he might get some at the end of it. “Yes.”

“Doesn’t it make you wonder? If it’s like . . . a sign, or something? Maybe they’re not supposed to know, or not ready.” Danny looks a little worried, turning back to Claude and watching like a lot is hanging on how he answers.

Claude has never much believed in luck. He’s worked too hard to get all the things that are important to him — everything from the A on his jersey to his stats to the jersey itself — to really believe that luck has much of a chance in the face of sheer bloody mindedness and effort. It's all been earned by right of being better than almost anyone he could be compared to. “Don’t tell me you’re becoming superstitious.”

“No. No, but it’s not working —”

“I’m pretty sure the reason it hasn’t worked is because you have stupid ideas about how it needs to play out.” Claude does not feel a lump rising in his throat, he really doesn’t.

Danny’s eyebrows draw in close and he scowls, “I do not have _stupid_ —”

“It doesn’t need to be a big deal, because it’s not a big —” He hesitates on that, watching the way Danny’s face gets still and shuttered, closing off like Danny does when he’s talking difficult things with the press, or trying to negotiate a new schedule with Sylvie. It’s his cautious face, the one he wears when he’s holding his actual feelings close to his chest. “It’s not a big deal to tell them,” Claude finishes weakly.

He’s rewarded with the same expression, not shifting from the polite blankness. “Maybe we should just. Until we’ve settled down and have time, maybe this is a sign that it’s not time to tell them yet. Maybe _we_ aren’t ready.”

Claude is not, by nature, insecure. He’s not. There’s no reason to be reading Danny’s expression as anything but caution except he’s never seen that look directed at him yet. He shrugs, sitting on the edge of their bed and trying not to look small. “Danny, I know how I feel. About you and about the boys. I know I’m not pushing for this but it’s not because I’m not ready. It is a big deal, just. Not a world shifting one or anything.”

“I know that,” and coming from Danny it sounds like a promise, has his lips tweaking in a hopeful smile. 

“Danny. I’ve been calling them _our_ boys since last year. We both have.” 

He touches Claude’s cheek, pulls him in to a quick kiss that Claude quickly tries to make into more because _hello_. Bed and empty hotel room. 

Danny pulls away with a low groan, pressing his forehead to Claude’s and sharing his air for several long seconds. “Just. Maybe you’re right, okay? Maybe I’ve been pushing it too hard.”

“Thank you, _God_ ,” Claude groans. “Finally. That’s all I’ve been saying, Danny. Because we . . .”

“We are we, Claude.” He doesn’t sigh when Danny kisses him again because that’s a little too romance novel for him, but he does shift into it, coaxing him deeper until Danny pulls away with a wet sound and a sigh.

“We should finish packing,” he says, sounding regretful, and he’s back to bustling before Claude can talk him out of it. Claude collapses against the pillows with a frustrated groan, and Danny ends up needing to do his packing as well which Claude thinks is a perfectly fair exchange for being a cockblock.

\\\

Danny leaves it alone, lets it go for the rest of the month since the holidays are coming up, American Thanksgiving and then that chaotic disaster called getting ready for Christmas and it’s just not worth the extra stress. After Claude's concussion it slips entirely off the radar. Danny doesn’t mention it even in passing, and Claude sneakily moves back in and begins living on Danny's couch in his blacked out living room because Claude's sister and mother are too busy to come to Philly and make sure he doesn’t do stupid things. And Brayden doesn’t really need another concussion moping around the house like a particularly bitchy zombie when he’s been dealing with his own.

Somehow they avoid HBO’s cameras catching him waking up and falling asleep in Danny’s house which requires some footwork and scheduling, but it’s worth it to be looked after. Danny does spend a lot of time hovering, enough that Sean casually mentions that he really hopes he doesn’t get a concussion for the next few years because he might scream if Danny mother hen’d him the way he’s doing to Claude. It never becomes a big deal, though, beyond Danny looking after him since he doesn’t really trust anyone else to make sure Claude isn’t a dumbass who pushes himself too hard and then doesn’t get better. It’s a massive relief both for Claude and for his concussion. 

Claude hates being hurt, but he’s a little bit happy about the attention, how it can pass under the radar for a little while.

The doctors finally give their okay for him to travel with the team. Claude’s not allowed within 100 feet of the ice in case he goes insane and decides that skating is a brilliant plan, but he’s not being held home which is a promising sign if you ask him. He hates being separated from the team almost as much as he hates being hurt, sitting in the press box with Lappy and just watching the game, but it’s tolerable as long as he’s not on total quarantine from the team.

By the time the game in Colorado rolls around his results are good enough that he’s allowed to do some light skating, and his minutes are restricted but he gets a clean bill against Dallas. From there it just gets better and better. He’s grateful for every moment he plays, and also because now Danny will actually allow him to take advantage of the rest of their long road trip.

After Pittsburg they have the Winter Classic, a solid week of playing at home with some nice days off in between, so the boys are waiting for them when they get back to the house. Claude is so ready for the stupid cameras to stop following him; he doesn’t even have words for it. He's not cut out to be a star of stage or screen, and the single minded focus on him is getting old fast. He can totally get why Danny wanted him out before all of this swooped onto their heads.

Danny hasn’t seen his boys for any significant amount of time for nearly three solid weeks and they’re all balls of energy, flailing and grasping at him, talking over each other to be heard. Claude is so, so glad his concussion is under control because otherwise he’d be in agony as they reach higher and higher decibels. Sean escapes almost immediately when they walk in the door, giving the boys a few affectionate slaps on the back and then fleeing somewhere out of Sylvie’s way. He clearly got the same “Hurt my children and face my wrath” speech from her that Claude did, and it resulted in more than a little bit of terror. Claude had found it mostly amusing.

Claude is half drowning, trying to participate in the conversation and getting engulfed in the wake of Hurricane Brieres. Danny’s laughing and failing at directing the flow towards where they want to go for dinner. Luckily the two dogs are pretty unimpressed with the whole situation, sitting obediently near Sylvie as she watches the unfolding drama with a fond little smile on her face, head tilted. 

“Claude,” she greets after giving Danny the quickest of hugs. She and Danny have moved past the invisible repellent stage since Claude’s last seen her; it’s probably a good thing even if it annoys him like everything he misses out on seeing does. “It is good to see you. The boys, they say you have been here while your head recovers?”

“Yes,” he agrees, scrubbing at his hair. He lived here for long enough full-time, he’s not sure why he’s nervous talking about it now. “Danny was nice enough to look after me.”

Her eyes dart and it’s quick enough that he almost doesn’t notice it except for how it forces the sudden lack of eye contact. “Daniel has always enjoyed a project,” she sighs, and Claude can’t quite decide what exactly that means, if it’s amusement or exasperation or what. 

“. . . Yes,” he agrees after a few seconds that stretch towards awkwardness. “The boys say you’re doing good.”

“I am, thank you.” They look at each other another few seconds and then Claude gives up. They’ve never had problems with each other per se; lingering awkwardness stems mostly from the old battle lines drawn after the divorce that no amount of civility and eventual forgiveness will ever completely wipe away.

When he turns back towards the boy’s conversation they’re starting to quiet down, voices reaching a more reasonable indoor level. Danny’s got them mostly under control, gradually letting up to allow Claude to begin directing the conversation; it’s a skill he’s picked up over the past few years and he’s a little bit too pleased to be showing it off for Sylvie, like he still needs her approval or something. While Claude’s busy reassuring them that yes, he is feeling better and he would be happy to join them in some mini hockey as soon as he gets his things together Danny and Sylvie are exchanging a few quiet words in the hallway. The boys go for their goodbye hugs and she leaves quietly after that. Zoey and Zora follow to the door and just sit there, staring at it.

“Papa, we’re hungry.” Cam starts tugging at his shirt almost immediately, eyes big and hopeful. “Can we get some pizza or something?”

They’re barely out of their coats but it only takes a few eyebrow quirks to decide that yes, going out for pizza sounds a lot better than any one of them attempting to cook (with the addition of Sean their cooking repertoire has now expanded to include grilled cheese, omelets, cereal, toast, canned soup and pancakes, so at least breakfast is always covered), so Carson runs to get Sean while Danny and Claude shrug into their coats and start the process of locating gloves, hats, and coats for the boys.

Carson joins the hunt for Cam’s left glove with a mumbled “Sean says he’ll eat anything we bring back, but pineapples are stupid,” so apparently they’re going to Papa Murphy’s. This doesn’t require everyone, but they’re already suited up, and it’s too much of an effort to waste. Besides, Danny is under some sort of weird, guilt induced delusion that it’s less of a health hazard than stuff they get from delivery.

Claude’s seen those stupid commercials because they’re impossible to avoid, the ones that proclaim you never know when a moment will suddenly turn romantic, as though romance is inclined to sneak attack at unlikely times. They’re scrambling for Danny’s keys in the bowl and Danny just looks up, and Claude has worse luck than the ladies in those commercials because he can see Danny’s eyes shifting just a little in their focus and he’s not even gonna get sex out of it.

“Boys.” Danny sounds thoughtful and they quiet quickly after that, eyes turned ahead. 

This is a really horrible plan. “Danny . . .”

“Claude and I, we have something we want to discuss with you.”

“You’re not getting traded, are you?” 

“ _Why_ does everyone keep asking me that?” Claude turns his focus from glaring balefully at Danny to the three boys and their three expressions of concern, all fixed on him. Danny puts his hand on Claude's forearm for a moment, a reassuring pat that turns into grabbing his gloves out of his pocket in one smooth move. “Do you have some sort of freaky, Children of the Corn psychic power I should know?”

“My children are not freaky,” Danny protests halfheartedly.

Three heads shake. There appears to be a conversation going on between the brothers in a language that consists mainly of shoulder twitches and significant eyebrow movements until Caelan sighs, his shoulders dropping and turning to Claude. 

Caelan shrugs a little helplessly, trying not to shuffle his feet even though Claude can clearly see his discomfort. “It’s just that you’ve already moved out. An’, I mean. You’re probably not gonna be moving in like, for real, because Sean’s in your room now. So like. It just makes sense, I guess.” 

The other two nod slowly and then Carson breaks rank, shuffling over and giving Claude a nervous, one armed hug as though he’s already gone. He thinks he hears Danny bravely fighting back tears behind him. Either that or trying not to laugh. 

For Danny's sake, it had better be tears.

He sorta wants to kill Danny for putting him in this situation. “No. _No_ , I am not . . . well, I can’t promise I won’t ever, but I’m not getting traded right now. I promise you.”

“Then what’s going on?”

Danny’s finally in control of whatever emotional reaction he was having, and his voice has that tight sound like he’s been holding a laugh at the back of his throat. “Maybe we should talk about this in the car.”

Because in the house now there’s always Sean. Sean’s not the sort to eavesdrop but they’re also making absolutely no attempt at being even a little bit discreet about anything, so they can only blame themselves if he wanders in during the middle of the “Your dad and I are dating” speech and finds out everything. They’re in the middle of the foyer, for fuck’s sake.

“You _think_?” Claude’s a second away from bursting into very rapid and very inappropriate French, and he pulls the door open harder than he needs to. “Danny, you have the worst . . .”

“Zora!” Cam sounds frantic and Claude’s eyes drop to Zoey, sitting at the door and staring up at him with huge eyes, then out the door to a few white splashes on an otherwise dark lawn bouncing up and down as Zora trots her way over the landscaping, sniffing at the mulch. “Zora, come back!”

“Cam!” Danny grabs for him because Zora is a _dog_ and has _dog instincts_ , but he darts out after her and immediately it becomes a game, her ears perking and her little back legs kicking up, darting out of reach each time Cam reaches to grab at her.

It’s only a matter of moments before Carson and Caelan are out there, too, grabbing for the dog that’s having the time of her life avoiding them. Claude would bet she’s laughing, if dogs laughed. She’s totally smiling, and not her smug “I am on my Daddy’s lap and you are not” smirk, but like full on doggy grinning.

Claude sighs, propped against the door frame. “Danny, we need a new house rule. From now on, if gay stuff needs to be talked about, I am the only person who can bring it up.”

“I. Sorry.” Danny at least looks a little remorseful, watching the boys scramble around on the lawn. “Do you think we should stop them?”

Claude shrugs, wriggling his shoulders to get at an itch situated right between his shoulder blades. “Nah. Probably the most exercise she’s had all day.” Zora’s not quite dense enough to head toward the street, and there are barely any cars out at this time of night, anyway.

Zora doesn’t do more than scamper around on the grass and before long the boy’s panic fades to laughing, chasing each other around on their lawn and being kids. Claude excuses himself and orders in; they’ll have to coral the dogs before too long so they don’t have an unfortunate delivery incident but right now it’s cooler to just hang out and watch all five of them playing together. Claude even drags Sean out with a promise of a pizza all to himself. Mrs. Riordan waves at them from her window where she’s clearly been spying — she’s old and she’s missed having Claude, or at least Claude’s butt, in the neighborhood. He waves back, encouraging Sean to at least offer a small little greeting as well. Sean seems weirdly frightened; clearly he's already met her before.

It’s taken Sean longer than Claude had expected to fall into the rhythm of the house, to feel completely okay with everything, but he’s settling in nicely now and it’ll probably get even easier once the Winter Classic is over and he can sorta just get used to being part of the family without being part of the family who’s on camera. Claude’s deeply grateful the media didn’t start stalking him until after he’d been settled in for a while; he can only imagine how weird cameras following him into a strange situation would have been.

He makes Sean pay for the pizza when it comes, with a vague word about responsibility and being a part of the family that translates into being too lazy to dig his wallet out. But Sean really does get his pizza all to himself so it’s not like he can complain too much.

\\\

“Claude?”

Claude looks over to where Carson’s lacing up his skates only to discover he’s paused with them half done up, laces all over the place and tongue hanging. “Yeah?”

Carson clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, but Claude can also tell he’s going to. “You’re not getting traded. And you still hang out with papa and us even though you moved out. An’, I mean. I like Sean, we all do, but . . .” He bites at his lip. “What you and papa want to tell us, it’s about that, isn’t it?”

God, he always knew these kids were too smart for their own good but he’d never really let himself realize how _much_ smarter.

Then again, their deviousness must be lacking if even Brayden has picked up on the teasing because the kid is subtle like a brick. Danny had been under some mistaken delusion that moving out would keep people off their backs, but that’s so far only worked with the press and the fans. Their locker room knows them too well, sees them together too much.

He realizes he’s in his own world at the same moment Carson elbows him a little. “I mean, you do want to tell us, right? You’re not getting traded so it has to be something else.” His eyes brighten up with hope. “Hey, are you moving back in? That’d be awesome, I bet papa could get the living room all set up and we could all be together like before!”

Claude can’t help but make a face at the idea of living on their sofa full time. It had been fine when his concussion was distracting him from everything else in the world, but not so much once his back was able to tell him that no, it was not okay with weird lumps and curling his knees to his chest just so he’ll fit. “Um, I’m not gonna live on your couch. That would be weird.”

Carson can clearly not see why that would be weird at all. “We miss you.”

“I’m over all the time.”

“It’s not . . .”

“The same, I know. I’m sorry.” He ruffles Carson's hair, checking his clipboard and gesturing at his skates. “Finish getting set, we can talk after practice.”

Getting the team on the ice is a lot more effort than Claude remembers from when he was a kid, but he’s pretty sure it was just as bad from his Coach’s point of view. When he’d first started coaching the boys he’d been really tempted to send the poor guys some edible fruit arrangements or something, until Danny had talked him out of it on the basis that it might be a little strange. So he’d just tracked them down over the summer and thanked them in person. It was probably less awkward that way. It seems to take forever to get everyone put together, and once he has helmets and gloves and sticks all sorted out, his head is throbbing a little and Caelan snatches his stick from Claude’s hand with a quick “Thanks, Dad,” before he hits the ice after the rest of the kids.

Claude and the other coach — Jackson’s mom, who he still calls Mrs. Rathburn even though they’re technically working together — start working them through their drills, a mixture of organized practice and just letting them skate around and take shots and be kids. Claude’s sorta glad that they’re all at the age where they can remember that plays need to happen and they don’t just give up their position to swarm the puck. It makes everything a lot easier, and they’re even better at it now than they were last year. He’d credit himself a little, but he also knows they’ve worked over the summer a little bit. The kids all know who Claude and Danny are, but there’s very little hero worship there. After all, Danny’s Cam and Carson and Caelan’s dad and Claude is . . . Claude. The kids are all very chill about it, and it’s a relief. He doesn’t want to stand on ceremony with them, and they don’t allow him to. Sometimes they take him out on purpose, though not lately. Not with the concussion still so close to the surface.

“Claude?” Cam’s waving at him from the stands and he skates over, smiling at Danny and Sylvie briefly before nodding his head. He doesn’t miss how they have Cam between them, or how they’re not really looking anywhere near each other. 

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Can I skate when practice is over?” He’s too young to be in Carson and Caelan’s league, but Claude sees no reason not to let him join in once they’re done with their important team stuff. 

He looks at Danny to make sure they don’t have somewhere they have to be, and for a split second he just _hates_ that he doesn’t have that knowledge any more. When Danny shrugs he agrees with a little smile. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Thank you!” Cam almost bounces out of his seat, and Claude laughs all the way back to the bench where Mrs. Rathburn is giving their defense a pep talk about how they really need to be paying more attention to the other players and beating them back to their zone and less time focused on being where the puck is. They look like they’re maybe getting it, but Claude’s curious to see how it plays out in an actual game where more likely than not adrenaline will leave them with at least one unopposed breakaway before they remember the lesson. If they do.

Claude had no idea coaching kids was so hair raising. Danny has to remind him at least once a month that it’s all just fun and games, they don’t _have_ to win. 

Caelan ends practice with two assists and a goal, and Carson managed an assist. They don’t technically keep score during practice (or even during some of the games, a practice that confused Claude at first) but he makes sure to congratulate them on it anyway, slapping their backs as Sylvie helps Cam finish his lacing up and he takes off onto the ice. For once the boys are all in a pleasant mood with each other, so they decide they’re okay with skating with their little brother for a while. That leaves Claude free to make his way to the stands, leaning against the wall and talking to Danny and Sylvie. She gathers her things and leaves after a few minutes of uncomfortable small talk while watching the boys do their thing. Danny leans forward, closer to Claude, and talks into his ear.

“The boys were hoping for some dinner after practice,” Danny says, and his voice is loud from this distance, almost overwhelming though maybe that’s the proximity and not the sound. It feels intimate, even if all they’re doing is discussing what to do after practice.

“Yeah? The Giroux special?” 

“They’d all like that.” Apparently the boys have been really pushing for him to come over and make them food, and while Claude actually was not planning on spending the rest of the night with them he doesn’t precisely have a reason to say no, so he doesn’t.

The boys play around, just having fun with horsing around on the ice and entertaining themselves while Danny leans against his back, watching them over his shoulder. They’re not touching but Claude can still feel Danny’s heat against his spine, contrasting with the cool of the ice, and he finds himself leaning back towards him. Searching that feeling out.

They’re at it long enough that the rink has cleared out by the time they’re ready to go and Claude helps Danny get the boys all together, out of their gear and then into Danny’s ride. They can come back for his car later like they’ve been doing a lot, lately.

They’re bickering about what they want to do when they get home, back and forth in that way that’s not a fight yet but could very well become one if one of them says the wrong thing or has the wrong tone. They’re all a little tired and it’s making them punchy.

“Guys?” Claude says, thoughtful. They fall silent almost immediately, turning to look at him in a staggered unison. Carson tilts his head as though he’s anticipating . . . something. 

It’s not as careful as Danny has been, but sometimes Claude thinks that careful is overrated and besides. They’re all here now, and he’s tired of resisting the urge to tell them while waiting for a more opportune moment. It just feels natural to turn backwards in his seat, look over his shoulder at the boys in the back seats, and start talking.

The thing is Claude feels safe here. Feels comfortable in Danny’s car that’s never completely cleared of kid debris, sitting shotgun with Danny’s iPod jacked into the speakers. It’s more home than anything else he can care to name, so he clears his throat and tries to decide what he wants to say.

“Yeah?” Caelan prompts after he’s been silent a moment too long. “Use your words, Claude.”

He’s a pain in the ass sometimes but, “I love you guys.”

“Um. Okay —”

“I love you too, Claude.” Cameron says it with that disarming honesty of his, cutting Caelan off. 

It’s not like he’s never heard Danny say it to them, and they to him, but it’s different because Claude is — Claude is _Claude_. He’s never tossed it around much, let alone with people that he’s not related to. It’s that more than anything that makes him realize, with the clarity of a good play, that it’s kinda now or never.

“What’s going on, Claude? Papa?” Carson looks suspicious, now. Cameron is the only one who appears willing to take it on faith, and Claude loves that about him.

Claude takes a deep breath, letting it out in a slow hiss as everything closes and narrows. It’s both easier and harder than he’d expected to get the words out. “I. I want you boys to know that I love your papa, too.”

The silence that falls doesn’t precisely feel uncomfortable, just. Pregnant, maybe. Heavy and pressing as even Danny goes still, attention drawing to him with a laser focus. 

Maybe Claude could have phrased it better, different, but he’s never been accused of thinking things through properly, and it just . . . it just worked. In that exact moment it just made sense to say.

“I feel like that should have been my line,” Danny finally cracks, trying to sound wry but mostly coming out tight throated and raspy. Claude can’t stop himself from looking over at him, smiling like reassurance even though Danny’s expression hasn’t shifted.

It’s Caelan who breaks the silence, looking between the two of them with darting eyes. Claude’s not sure how to read that. “ _Really?_ ” 

His voice is soft and a little sappy. “Yeah.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna move back in with us?” Cameron looks so hopeful, and Claude hates himself just a little since _No_ and _I can’t_ , but —

“He can’t, doofus.” Caelan elbows his brother. 

Cameron flails at him, voice high and squeaky. “Hey!”

“Remember how weird people were last year? With the cameras and the interviews and stuff? If he moves back in it’ll be even _weirder_ , okay? And then him and papa might have to stop playing hockey, or something, and that’d be the worst,” he explains, right as Danny adds “Don’t call your brother ‘doofus’, Caelan.”

“The actual worst,” Carson agrees as they collectively decide to ignore their father. “So we gotta be careful what we say, okay?”

Cam’s eyes are huge and he nods solemnly. “I won’t tell anyone, I _promise_.”

“What about maman?” Carson turns to their father in the front seat, and Danny winces a tiny bit. He knew it was coming, but he wasn’t looking forward to the question. “Have you talked to her?”

“Not . . . not yet,” Danny admits after an awkward silence. “We wanted to talk to you first.”

 _Because you’re the deciding factor_ goes unsaid because they all know that. If the boys said “No” then it would be the end of it and Claude can’t even find it in himself to find that unfair. It’s exactly how it should be because Danny’s boys come first in everything — every thought, action, decision is weighed against their happiness, their comfort. He knew that from the moment he moved in.

“You should.” It’s absolutely funny how Carson sounds like he’s scolding them. “Now that you’ve told us.”

Danny sounds like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. His voice is holding the edge of stunned disbelief as he acquiesces with “We will.” 

Claude is biting back a laugh as he agrees. “We promise. Soon.”

“Cool.” 

“We like you more than maman’s new boyfriend, anyway.”

Claude tries and mostly fails to hold back a laugh. He doesn’t buy them spontaneous gifts, so that feels pretty awesome to know. “I. Thank you? I guess?”

Carson is watching Claude with narrowed eyes, a little belligerent but mostly unsure in that way of those approaching adolescence at a rapid pace. “So you’re not coming back, are you, Claude?”

Claude bites his lip, chewing on it in that way he knows Danny both loves and hates. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I’ll keep coming around, you know that.”

“You’re not gonna, like . . . _spend_ the night with papa, right?” He’s trying and failing to not look a little freaked out by that idea.

“But I like when Claude spends the night —”

Claude starts laughing so hard he starts coughing while Danny struggles to keep the car on the road, letting out an undignified sound halfway between a squeak and a sputter. “I. We. _No_!”

Carson sighs, sinking back in his seat and relaxing visibly. “Oh, thank _God_. We love you, but we don’t want to know about that, okay? Maman promised us the same thing, when we’re at her house.”

“I can bet you don’t.” Claude’s trying to sound wry but he can tell they know he’s fighting back the urge to just keep laughing and, like, never stop. The color Danny’s turning is so absolutely classic. “I won’t, at least not while you’re there —”

Carson’s hand darts up. “ _God_ , don’t continue that thought. _Please_.”

He tries to feel put out but just ends up laughing some more. Claude really loves Danny’s boys. “Okay, okay.”

Caelan has been strangely silent, watching Claude from the back seat. Caelan . . . Claude always knew he would be the brother to convince, from the moment he set a foot over their threshold. He craves his approval because Caelan has the final word with his siblings, and he’s stayed so silent it’s like he’s utterly disappeared from the car, if not the whole universe. 

“Caelan?” he prompts after the silence gets too heavy. 

“You really do love papa, right?” Caelan says it as though it’s the only thing that really matters, and the thing is . . . 

It _is_ the only thing that matters.

It’s like one of the more important tests Claude’s ever faced.

“Yeah,” Claude agrees, not even trying to keep the smile out of his eyes when he says it because _Yeah, yes_. It’s important and easy as fresh blades and clear ice. “Yeah, I really do.”

Caelan nods a few times, and then there’s that _smile_ , the one Claude hasn’t seen directed at him since he took his last box out of the house and it hit him that this _wasn’t his life anymore_ , that he and Danny had to adapt and change if they wanted it to work, and the first step of that was distance.

“Good. Papa’s loved you for a long time.”

“Caelan . . .” Danny starts but has to stop, his voice getting tight and proud.

“I’m glad.”

“We’re all glad.”

Claude does not intend to cry like a total sap, but it’s actually a near thing for a couple seconds.

“You do realize this means we have to tell Sylvie next?” Danny’s voice comes from somewhere farther away than the seat next to him.

He drops his head back to thump heavily against the headrest. “For fuck’s sake, Danny. Just promise to let _me_ handle it this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Slight edits done, improving readability.


End file.
